


The True Father

by inspiration_assaulted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Dark Harry Potter, Father Voldemort, Fluff, Good Dark Side, M/M, Magical Government
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiration_assaulted/pseuds/inspiration_assaulted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer before his seventh year, Draco Malfoy has to stay at Riddle House while his father and the Dark Lord, as High Mediator of the Wizengamot, attend the European gathering of the ICW. It is in the house that he meets the Dark Lord’s son, a shadowy young man of which little is known and less is said. The Lord’s son has been left in charge of the Marked in the Lord’s absence. Draco catches his eye, while he catches Draco’s curiosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've been working on this one off and on for months now, but I recently had a rush of inspiration (it practically assaulted me ;) ) and wrote a LOT. I'm posting what I have of it, but I'll tell you all right now that I have no idea how long it's going to be and only a vague thought of where it's going. Please descend upon it like ravenous sharks (albeit constructive ones, please!) and let me know what you think!

Draco stared at the dining room door, bracing himself. For the hundredth time he wished his father had not found it ‘for the best’ to leave him in the Dark Lord’s house while they both attended the International Confederation of Wizard’s European Gathering. He was seventeen, for Merlin’s sake! He should have been permitted to stay alone all summer in the Manor.

But _no_ , he had to stay at Riddle House. He had to be there to celebrate the Dark Lord’s son’s seventeenth birthday and receive his own Mark. He was thrilled to be an adult, a contributing member of the Order of Balance, but some of the stories he had heard about the Dark Lord’s son…

Well, ‘scary’ didn’t come near describing him.

Sucking in a deep breath, Draco opened the door and walked in with the Malfoy grace and pride his father had instilled in him. He took his place at the foot of the table, a place befitting his Unmarked-yet-important status. He would be given a higher place after his Marking.

He had barely opened his mouth to greet Severus when the door swung open again and the Marked all jumped to their feet. Draco and the few other Unmarked hastily followed. He craned his head around as much as he dared, which wasn’t much, to try to see the teenager he knew must have walked in: the Dark Lord’s mysterious and elusive son.

The young man who stepped up to the head of the table was moderately tall and broad, broader than the Dark Lord. His hair was pitch-dark and cut far shorter on the sides than the top. His fringe brushed his eyebrows, shadowing hooded-yet-sharp eyes as he surveyed the table’s occupants.

“Good evening, my friends,” he said, his voice low but resounding. The gathered people returned his greeting and he inclined his head before sitting. The rest hastened to follow as food appeared on the table.

“He’s a sight, isn’t he?” Pansy murmured from Draco’s right, helping herself to potatoes.

“What do you mean?”

Pansy gave him a flat look. “Come on, Draco. You and I both know you aren’t the straightest of blokes. And even if you were, I should hope you know a handsome man when you see one.”

Draco sipped his wine, watching the head of the table over the rim of his glass. The Lord’s son was listening as Nott and Avery spoke quietly to him, nodding occasionally but otherwise displaying no hint of his thoughts. Those shadowed green eyes caught Draco’s, holding his gaze until the blond looked away.

“Quite a sight,” Pansy said again softly.

“Indeed,” Draco agreed.

“Draco Malfoy.”

They both jerked as the Dark Lord’s son called his name. Draco flushed lightly as he met the sharp green gaze. “Yes, my Lord Heir?”

The teenager at the head of the table simply looked at him for a long moment, until Draco began to squirm. He wanted to look away, but those hooded eyes held him still.

“Come with me,” he said eventually. He rose, prompting everyone at the table to rise with him. “Goodnight, my friends.”

“Goodnight, Lord Heir,” everyone replied in unison.

A crooked finger directed Draco out of the room behind the mysterious young man. A similar gesture had Avery following them.

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets to disguise their shaking. Was he in trouble? He had only been in the house a few hours, and he wasn’t even Marked! How could he be in trouble? He risked a glance at Avery only to find the man studying him curiously. Clearly he didn’t know why the Dark Lord’s son wanted to speak with him either.

The Heir opened a heavy, dark wood door at the end of a long hallway and proceeded them inside. Avery gestured for Draco to go second, then shut the door and he entered last. The man took a seat in a chair off to the side, apparently knowing he would be more of an observer than a participant in whatever was about to happen.

The Dark Lord’s son leaned back against the ornate desk by the room’s only window and crossed his arms. Draco tried to control his shaking and keep himself from breaking out in a cold sweat as the Heir studied him.

“Are you afraid of me?” the dark-haired teen asked, his voice low and even.

Draco didn’t even contemplate the possibility of lying. “Yes, my Lord Heir.”

A smile teased at the corners of the Heir’s mouth. “Good.” Intense green eyes never left Draco’s, pinning him in place. “I heard your birthday was recently. You are seventeen now, right?”

“Yes, my Lord Heir.”

“You have my belated congratulations.”

Draco inclined his head briefly in thanks. He still could not figure out what the Dark Lord’s son wanted from him, but some instinct told him it was more than idle chatter.

“Henry,” Avery spoke up suddenly from his seat in the corner, his tone warning.

Draco startled. Henry? The son of the Dark Lord, a believed cold-blooded killer and magical powerhouse, was named _Henry?_

“Angus,” the teen replied blankly. The two shared a look that Draco did not understand and Avery nodded, apparently subsiding.

“My father has always spoken well of Lucius Malfoy,” the Heir said. Draco scrambled to recover his wits after the sudden change of subject. The Dark Lord’s son seemed casual and relaxed, but his eyes never lost their intense, calculating light. “He is one of the best Ministers for Magic Britain has had in her history.”

“Thank you, my Lord Heir,” Draco replied automatically. It was always nice to hear his father being praised, but he had no idea why the Heir was doing it.

“Lucius is loyal, intelligent, and clever to a degree that sets him apart from the rest of the Marked,” the green-eyed teen remarked. He uncrossed his arms and braced them on the desk behind him, leaning forward. “I am very much hoping that that is a Malfoy family trait.”

Draco frowned before he remembered to control his expression. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, my Lord Heir.”

“Lord Heir,” the teen repeated. “That is the crux. My father is not immortal, and it is expected that I will one day be High Mediator of the Wizengamot. If is there is anything I have learned while growing up, it is that I need someone I can trust with anything.”

He flexed his arms and hopped up backward onto the desk in one drool-worthy smooth motion. Draco was momentarily distracted from his confusion and lingering fear by the Heir’s gorgeous looks.

“My own seventeenth birthday is soon, and it’s high time I get to know people my own age.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “You, I’ve heard, are the power in Hogwarts. The fact that you have managed that in your own right, rather than with your father’s name, is impressive. You are the kind of person I want to get to know.”

Draco felt his face warm. “Thank you, my Lord Heir.”

The smirk widened. “Call me Harry.” He chuckled at Draco’s bewildered pucker of his brow. “I know you heard Avery call me Henry. That’s my formal name, but only my father and godfather,” he gestured at Avery, “call me that, generally when I’m in trouble. I prefer Harry.”

* * *

 

Angus Avery locked the door behind the Malfoy boy after he left. He turned to his godson and gave him a long, hard stare.

The boy gave him a devilish smirk. “Something on your mind, Angus?”

“What in the nine hells are you planning?” he demanded. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you’re planning something. It’s not in your personality to suddenly want to ‘make friends’ or whatever.”

Harry dropped his innocent expression and sighed. “Your lack of trust is astounding.”

Angus snorted as his godson lay back across the Dark Lord’s own desk. “ _Your_ irreverence is astounding.” Harry laughed. “Really, what are you doing?”

The teen hummed idly. “He’s something to look at, isn’t he?”

“Henry Thomason Riddle, you are not making that boy your sex slave!”

Harry sat up, affronted. “Is that what you think of me, Angus?” He jumped down off the desk and all but stomped over to the door. “I have no intention of abusing my power,” he spat.

Angus flinched. His godson could control his emotions like the best Slytherin, but his temper was legendary among people he trusted. He knew he was in for several days of cold looks and silence until he managed to convince Harry he was sorry.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I want to get to know him,” Harry continued, his voice like ice. He unlocked the door with a gesture and threw his parting words over his shoulder. “Good day, Avery.”

“Harry-“ Angus was cut off when the boy slammed the door on him. “Damn it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry smiled to himself when he spotted Draco talking with Izar Nott’s son in the gardens. He took a moment to admire the blond’s looks while out of their sight.

Draco’s grey eyes had caught his the moment he sat down at the dinner table the night before. Certainly Lucius was a handsome man, but his son blew him out of the water. Draco had fairly delicate features that must have come more from his mother than Lucius. High cheekbones, fine skin and a nose as straight as a knife blade, Harry admired all of it. His eyes, though, were something else. He wondered if Draco realised how much they looked like quicksilver.

Harry watched as Draco laughed at something Nott’s son said. The sound drifted over to where the dark-haired teen stood, softer than he had expected. With effort, Harry controlled his expression and walked over to them.

Nott spotted him first and jumped to his feet. Draco followed, carefully blanking his face, but Harry caught the way the blond looked him over quickly.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.

Nott seemed a bit stunned, but Draco answered. “No, my Lord Heir.” Harry flicked his eyes over to Nott, and Draco caught the hint. “May I introduce Theo Nott, Izar’s son and one of my closest friends?”

Theo gave a confused sort of half bow.

“This is rather informal, don’t you think?” Harry asked with a smile. “Call me Harry.” He glanced at their two Adirondack chairs, placed to take in the rare English sun. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” Theo said hurriedly, but still sincere.

Harry conjured a chair of his own next to Draco’s. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It was a calculated move to show Draco his profile, and he was rewarded with a slight hitch in the blond’s breathing. “Sun is so rare in Wales, isn’t it?” he said as an excuse.

“It’s as bad as Scotland sometimes,” Draco agreed.

“I imagine.” He open his eyes again and smiled at the blond. “How bad can the winters be at Hogwarts?”

As Theo found his voice and began a story about the stairs to the Owlery freezing over one year, Harry casually stretched out and dug his bare toes into the grass. He dragged his ankle lightly against Draco’s leg in the process and made the blond shiver.

Harry knew Draco was attracted to him. Miss Parkinson was very helpful in that regard, provoking Draco into confessing his admiration at dinner the night before.

His father had taught him to always be aware of everything happening around him, so Harry had learned to read lips while growing up. Reading lips allowed him to know what people were saying without the chance that they might notice a listening charm being placed.

Oh, he had plans for Draco.

“I’ve heard the lake ices over as well,” Harry said, always keeping track of what Theo was saying. “Does anyone ever go skating on it?”

During his conversation, he eased his toes under Draco’s trouser cuff. He ran his toes across the back of Draco’s leg, holding back a smile when the blond pushed his leg into the contact.

When Izar Nott came out to collect his son, Harry made sure the man only found three teenagers having a pleasant conversation, not a calculated seduction.

“Izar,” Harry greeted, standing to acknowledge the man’s bow.

“My Lord Heir.” He glanced at his son. “Enjoying the sunshine?”

“Very much so,” Harry smiled. “Is there news from my father?”

Nott shook his head. “No, nothing. Avery wants to talk to you, though.”

Harry scowled briefly. “I know what Avery wants.”

Izar evidently took his sudden about-face to mean he should leave. “I will see you at the next meeting, my Lord Heir.” He bowed again. “Theodore, your mother expects us home for dinner soon.”

“Yes, Dad.” Theo gave Harry a half-bow. “Good-bye, my Lord Heir.”

“Good-bye, Theo.”

As soon as the two Notts were out of sight, Harry ran a finger down Draco’s back to the waistband of his trousers. Draco turned to look at him, and Harry let the teen’s motion drag his fingertips around to rest at Draco’s hip.

“Harry?” he asked, unsure.

Harry smiled at him. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

Draco’s quicksilver eyes widened for a second, then he smirked. “Why not tonight?” he asked teasingly.

Harry gripped his hip and tugged him closer. “Believe me, I want to,” he breathed, leaning in close and watching Draco’s eyes drop to his lips, “ _Draco_.” He let go and stepped back suddenly, leaving Draco blinking. “But my godfather has been rather desperate to apologise to me for the past two days, and I believe I owe him the chance. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough.”

Draco pouted, his grey eyes dancing. Harry took his narrow chin in one hand, running his thumb over Draco’s lower lip and making his eyes flutter. “We have all summer, Draco,” he reminded.

* * *

 

“Good luck,” Avery said as he left.

Draco wiped his palms on his trousers. Harry seemed to prefer a somewhat casual look, so he had forgone a robe. He was dressed classically in black wool trousers and a dove-grey silk shirt with his shoes polished to a mirror shine. The shirt clung to his trim, Quidditch player’s figure. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and it was unbuttoned to show his collarbones.

He took one last breath to prepare himself and opened the library doors.

Harry had set up a table for two amongst the dark wood of the panelling and bookshelves. Candlelight made the silver place settings and crystal goblets glitter.

The Dark Lord’s son himself stood by the single window, holding one of the heavy green brocade curtains open and watching the rain. He also wore black trouser and a silk shirt, but Harry’s shirt was an emerald green that Draco knew would match his eyes and topped with a black vest. He turned and smiled, and Draco’s breath caught.

He was gorgeous.

Harry pulled the curtain back into a brass hook on the wall and held out a hand. Draco let Harry pull him over to the window and wrap and arm around his waist.

“I suppose some people would find the rain boring, seeing it as often as I do,” he said, “but I’ve always thought there was a beauty in it. It makes the garden…I don’t know, brighter somehow.”

Draco preferred to watch Harry watching the rain. “I want to know all about you,” he decided. “Everything.”

Harry pulled him in closer, pressing their bodies together from chest to knee. “That might take a few years, Draco,” he murmured. “There’s a lot to know.” He breathed hotly on Draco’s ear, and Draco was very glad Harry was holding him up. “It might even take the rest of your life. Are you willing to stay that long?”

Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. No one had ever affected him like Harry could. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” he said, scrambling to get the upper hand in the conversation.

Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s and let out a small sigh. “That’s all I can ask for, I suppose.” He pulled back and smiled before Draco could ask what he meant. “Hungry?”

Dinner was delicious. Harry proved to be a wonderful companion, mannerly and able to keep the conversation going. He was especially eager, in his own subdued way, to hear Draco’s stories about Hogwarts.

“The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor is legendary,” Draco said at one point.

“So Severus has repeatedly complained to me,” Harry drawled, spearing his last bit of fish and popping it in his mouth. “He often pretends to be upset that my father made him Headmaster. I’ve experienced a few of his lessons when my father was too busy. Honestly, as sour as that man is, he’s better off not teaching anymore.”

“You’ve never had him as a regular tutor,” Draco muttered darkly. “That man used to take a copper stirring rod to my knuckles when I did something wrong.”

“Oh, your poor hands,” Harry cooed mockingly. “Shall I kiss them better for you?”

“Do,” Draco replied imperiously, holding out his hand.

Harry took it and pressed a chaste kiss to the back. Draco made to pull it back but Harry wouldn’t let go. He looked up with a filthy smirk that made Draco light-headed as his blood rushed southward.

“Harry…” he breathed.

Harry turned his hand over and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the palm. He ran his tongue around the base of Draco’s pinkie sucked it into his mouth, tracing the underside of the second knuckle with the pointed tip of his tongue. Draco moaned.

Harry pulled his finger out of his mouth with a pop and laced their fingers together instead. He snapped the fingers of his free hand and an old-fashioned record player in the corner stirred to life. Soft, romantic horns drifted out. It sounded like the 1930s to Draco.

“Dance with me,” Harry requested.

Draco stood and placed his other hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Of course.”

Harry held him close as they danced. “Do you know why I wanted you to stay here this summer?”

“I didn’t know you were the reason I’m here,” Draco admitted.

“Yeah,” Harry looked away, suddenly shy. “I asked Lucius to bring you here while he and my father are at the conference.”

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Harry was silent a moment, guiding Draco through a turn. “All my life,” he began slowly, “I’ve heard Lucius talk about you. My father had no idea how to be a parent. He still doesn’t, in fact, but he does what he can,” he smiled. “He often sought Lucius’ advice when I was younger. Your father is still the only friend of his with a child.”

“The Dark Lord isn’t exactly known for having many friends,” Draco pointed out, though not unkindly.

Harry nodded. “I kept hearing about you, and I could see how good it was that my father had someone to really trust. So I wanted to meet you and try to have that kind of trust.”

“Do you think you found it?”

Harry stopped dancing and met Draco’s gaze. “I think I’ve found something better,” he breathed. He leaned in and covered Draco’s lips with his.

Draco melted into the kiss. He opened his mouth under Harry’s questioning tongue and shivered at its slick slide against his own. He moaned and Harry rumbled deep in his chest.

“Yeah, I think you did too,” he panted when they broke apart. He gasped when Harry nipped at his earlobe. “Gods, Harry, what you do to me…”

“It’s mutual.” He tugged Draco’s bottom lip with his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. Draco put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him into another searing kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco puttered about his room, unsure of himself. It was technically a guest room, since he was staying in the Dark Lord’s sprawling house for the summer, but someone had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to make it comfortable and to his tastes. After his confession the night before, Draco suspected Harry had asked Lucius for help.

He opened the curtains, deep blue silk brocade, and held them back with the ornate silver hooks on the walls. The walls of the room were another shade of blue, one people usually didn’t expect to be his favourite colour, slightly lighter than the curtains. His bedcovers and hangings were a rich royal blue with silver embroidery.

The garden below his window was called the Green Garden, Severus had told him. There were no flowers, just a beautiful variety of leafy plants and decorative grasses. The whole of it was glittering in the weak sunshine after the night’s rain.

Draco spent an hour going through his clothes. He wanted something that seemed casual but was calculated to highlight his best features. He wanted to show off his perfectly pale skin and toned figure. Draco had no idea if he was going to see Harry that day, but it was always better to be prepared. He settled on a burgundy button up and grey trousers with a pinstripe pattern. He wore the shirt the same way he had the night before, unbuttoned to his collarbones and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Draco threw himself backwards onto the bed with a sigh. He raised his wand and transfigured his ceiling out of boredom. White plaster became a sparkling image of the night sky, and Draco wiled away a few minutes adjusting it by location and season, finally settling on the Scottish sky in January. A handful of charms made the stars twinkle and occasional auroras sweep across it randomly.

A knock at the door startled Draco and he sat bolt upright. _Harry_ , he thought, a silly smile stretching across his face. He ran to the door and paused. It wouldn’t do to seem too eager. Be eager, yes, but not look it. He composed his face and ran his fingers through his hair, artfully placing the blond strands, then opened the door.

Harry stood on the other side, dressed in an all-black version of the outfit he had worn at dinner the night before. He had a blanket under one arm and a basket floating sedately by his side. “Picnic?” he asked with a grin.

Draco nodded, taking Harry’s hand with a smile. “Is this a special occasion, or did you just miss me?” he teased.

“Everyone’s gone,” Harry explained. “There’s just Avery left, but he lives here with us.” He squeezed Draco’s hand. “But why should that mean I didn’t miss you?”

Draco turned away to hide the smitten smile breaking out on his face again. “Why does Avery live here?” he asked to distract Harry. “I thought just you and the Dark Lord did. Doesn’t Avery have his own family?”

“We are his family now,” Harry replied sadly. “His mother died while he was in school. Angus is just a few years younger than Lucius, you know.” Draco nodded, gesturing for Harry to go on. “His father was Ambrose Avery, who was in Slytherin with my father. He became a well-known Death Eater and killed about two dozen on my father’s orders. Mad-Eye Moody caught him near the end of the war and sentenced him to the Dementor’s Kiss. It was carried out before my father became Lord Gaunt and High Mediator.”

He let go of Draco’s hand as they reached the Green Garden and spread out the blanket. Draco let himself be tugged down to sit next to Harry.

“Angus wasn’t known as a Death Eater then,” Harry continued, his voice solemn. “My father found him before the Aurors did and removed his Mark so they wouldn’t kill him too. They had to let Angus go, but they took the Avery ancestral home as evidence. It burned to the ground in a ‘freak lightning strike’ before Lucius was sworn in, probably to make sure he couldn’t give it back. So, since Angus is my godfather, he moved in with us.”

Draco hummed. “That’s quite a story.”

Harry opened the basket and pulled out a short stack of sandwiches wrapped in paper. “I’ve got heaps of them. Chicken or roast beef?”

“Chicken. Care to tell me any more?”

Harry smirked at him. “You only get family secrets if you’re part of them family.”

“Oh?” Draco cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose I’ll just have to wait.”

Harry looked at him, eyes burning. He plucked the sandwiches out of Draco’s hands and pulled the blond into his lap. “Plan to be family, do you, Draco?” he asked. “How dangerous.”

“I like danger,” Draco breathed, weaving his hands through Harry’s dark hair.

“Good,” Harry murmured against his lips. Draco gasped as Harry took his top lip between his teeth and nibbled on it. He poked his tongue out curiously and ran it across the inside of Harry’s bottom lip. Harry made a rumbling noise in his chest, like the purr of a big cat.

A sharp call of a bird made Harry break away. He leaned their foreheads together and sighed. “Of all bloody times,” he muttered darkly.

Draco looked over at the enormous crow perched on the picnic basket. It let out another caw and seemed to glare at Harry.

“Yes, hello Andronicus.” Harry rolled his eyes and reached awkwardly around Draco to get the scroll on the bird’s leg without dumping the blond off his lap.

Draco shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning against Harry’s shoulder. “News from the Dark Lord?”

Harry nodded. “It’s about time, too.” Draco peeked at the scroll as Harry unrolled it, but it just looked like meaningless squiggles. Draco assumed it was some sort of code and turned his attention instead to the crow delicately unwrapping a roast beef sandwich with its beak and picking out the meat.

“Greedy bird,” Harry said, almost like he was teasing the crow. “Doesn’t Tad feed you enough?” The crow squawked at him shortly and went back to picking at the sandwich. “Get out of here!” Harry flapped a hand at it. “Go tell tales to Tad or whatever.” The crow gave one last caw and launched into the sky.

“Tad?” Draco asked.

Harry actually blushed, his cheeks turning a lovely light pink. “It’s, er, Welsh for Dad,” he muttered. “I try not to use it around…people.”

Draco idly played with a button on Harry’s shirt. “Your family seems a lot like mine was before Father became Minister,” he remarked. “Loving in private, but cool and collected in public. I remember when I was eight and it was announced. Mother and Father just suddenly started smiling more, holding hands in Diagon Alley and sometimes even hugging me before I ran off with my friends at parties.” He smiled. “I had no idea what was going on. Father had to explain to me that it was because people would trust a Minister who was also a family man.” He laughed quietly to himself. “It took me years to understand.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “You remember that no one ever saw me before I was ten, right? Well, except Lucius and Angus. My father says he couldn’t trust me to act appropriately before then, but I think he couldn’t trust himself.” He grinned. “After all, who would take a Dark Lord seriously if he was carrying a toddler around on his shoulders? That doesn’t strike fear into anyone’s heart.”

Draco laughed. “I suppose not.” He climbed off Harry’s lap, albeit reluctantly, so they could finally eat. “I’ve been wondering for a while now, why did you never go to Hogwarts?”

Harry covered his mouth as he swallowed before he spoke. “The answer’s pretty straight-forward. You’ve probably figured it out already.”

“The Dark Lord is paranoid.”

“Five points to Slytherin,” Harry smirked. “We are the only blood each other has. He could hardly stand to be away for more than a day when I was younger, and he still doesn’t like it. I have no idea how he is managing to stay at the conference right now. Likely only because he has Andronicus to spy for him.”

Draco opened the jug of mineral water in the basket and poured it out into two glasses. “How can his crow spy for him? Can he talk to birds?”

Harry just smiled. “Family secret.” He polished off his sandwich and flopped down on his back. “I do wish sometimes I had gone to school,” he confessed.

Draco finished his own lunch and dusted off his hands. He scooted over and placed Harry’s head in his lap, stroking his hair. Harry made that purring rumble of his again and nuzzled into Draco’s leg.

“You would have been the uncontested power of Slytherin,” Draco commented. “Who would want to cross the Dark Lord’s son?”

“Son of the Dark Lord and High Mediator, the future Lord Gaunt and Heir of Slytherin,” Harry listed off. “Gods, everyone would have been on eggshells around me.”

“My, aren’t you humble?”

“Just like my father,” Harry grinned. “I have enough reasons to be a bit proud, as do you.”

“Quite true.”

“Tell me about the Gryffindors,” Harry requested, peering up at Draco.

“Why?” Harry pouted at him, eyes wide and pleading, and Draco sighed. “You manipulative git,” he scolded without heat. “The Gryffindors don’t have any real power structure, not like Slytherin. They have a kind of…mob mentality, I guess. They all pretty much run on a hatred of snakes and their muggle-loving ideals. They try curse us, we get revenged, it’s all a cycle.

“The loudest one is Richard Potter,” he continued, threading his fingers through Harry’s and resting them on his stomach. “He’s two years below me, the son of James and Lily Potter. They’re old Dumbledore’s favourite pawns.”

“Why is he the loudest?”

“He blames the Dark Lord and the Marked for kidnapping his brother, just like his parents,” Draco explained. “Harrison Potter was the firstborn. He’d be our age now, I think. Harrison disappeared while the family was in hiding. He was a year old at the time. The Potters were at a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix on Samhain and when they came back, he was gone and the house was a wreck.”

“Why would my father steal a child?” Harry wondered aloud. “He already had me then.”

“No one knows.” Draco was pleased to be able to tell Harry something he didn’t know. “There was never a ransom or any demands, either. All those Light rebels still claim is was a Dark plot, but hardly anyone believes them anymore.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Lils?” James Potter poked his head around the door to their bedroom as he buttoned up his robe. “You about ready?”

Lily sat on the bed, her shoulders hunched and bowed inward over some object in her hands. James stepped closer to peer over her shoulder.

She held a worn photograph in her lap, its corners folded and faded from being touched so much over the years. It depicted a much younger Lily smiling up through her exhaustion from a hospital bed. James stood by her side with a tiny bundle of blankets in his arms. The expression on his face was adoring and just a bit gobsmacked. Sirius and Remus stood behind him, big, silly grins on their faces. A tiny hand waved from the bundle in James’ arm, and James moved so a little face with big green eyes and topped with brown fuzz could be seen.

“Why do you have this out again?” James asked, taking the picture gently from his wife’s hands. “I thought he put this away.”

“I dreamed about him again last night,” Lily said softly. “Do you remember how he waved at us when we left? Peter held him up to the window and he waved and waved, and we waved back-“ Lily cut off her words with a choked sob.

James hugged his wife. “Shh,” he whispered, cradling her head to his chest. “I remember.”

“He’ll be seventeen next month,” Lily gasped out.

“He would have been.”

“No, he will be.” Lily pulled away. 

It was a subject they had never agreed on. In the beginning they had both held out hope that Harry was still alive. Dumbledore had helped them, giving them location spells and performing rituals to search for Harry’s magical signature, but they all returned confused and ambiguous results. Albus had even searched the record of magical births at Hogwarts, but Harrison Potter’s name had become faded and illegible.

James had held out hope until the year Harry was to begin Hogwarts. Harry never appeared at school. No children appeared that could not be accounted for. 

Lily refused to give up. She was sure her Harry was still out there somewhere, deep underground in some dank cellar or dungeon cage beneath a Dark family’s palatial home. Her heart ached to think of her boy growing up tortured and twisted. Whenever anyone asked, she told them that she would know if her son was dead. She would feel it.

For James, the fact that Harry didn’t appear at Hogwarts was the final proof. Harry was dead. It was devastating, and he would grieve for the rest of his life, but he still had a life to continue living. They had another son, Richard, who deserved their attention just as much as Harry.

“Ok, Lily,” James relented. It was just better not to argue anymore. “All right.” He hugged her again. “The meeting’s about to start. We better get down there.”

The Order of the Phoenix met in what used to be the formal dining room of Potter Hall. Only the long table remained, surrounded by battered chairs that previous generations of Potters had lovingly polished and displayed. Many of the people in the old chairs looked a bit worse for wear. They were prominent members of the Phoenix and staunch Light supporters, driven underground by Voldemort’s rise to power.

Albus Dumbledore, however, looked as resplendent as ever at the head of the table. He stood up to welcome the Potters and tucked his beard into his belt.

“Now we are all here,” he said as he sat down again. “I have news. I believe we have found a way to locate Voldemort’s base of operations.”

Whispers and shocked exclamations burst out around the table. Albus raised a hand and waited for silence to reassert itself. 

“This…process will take quite a while, I’m afraid,” he added, noting how many excited faces fell again. “It will not be finished before October. This does, however, give us time to plan and prepare ourselves for what we will do with this information.”

Alastor Moody growled wordlessly and thumped his walking stick. “What do you mean, what we’re gonna do?” Another thump. “We go in and wipe out the whole bunch. Like a nest of ants.”

“Those are powerful wizards you’re talking about,” Kingsley Shacklebolt pointed out. Kingsley was the only Auror still in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had accepted a lower position under supervision, mostly investigating financial matters. “One of those ‘ants’ is one of the most popular Ministers for Magic in history. Going in to slaughter them will start an uprising we can’t win.”

Albus held up a hand to stop Moody’s reply. “Kingsley is right. The average wizard cannot see that Voldemort and Lord Gaunt are the same. Recklessness will only get us all killed.”

“What can we do, then?” James asked. “What good is knowing where You-Know-Who’s house is?”

“We can watch it,” Dumbledore replied. “All his planning and operations take place in there. If we can gain access to even a small amount of information, it could change the course of this war.”

James saw several people shift uncomfortably at the word ‘war,’ but no one said anything. The last ones who had were Sirius and Remus. Their chairs at the table were still empty.

“This process of yours,” James said slowly, “has it given us anything yet? A city it’s close to, a county, a region maybe?”

Albus paused for a long moment, looking at each person around the table. “Wales,” he answered eventually. “We know it is in Wales or very near the Welsh border.” 

“How well-protected is this place, then?” Moody grumbled. “What are we dealing with, Unplottable? Fidelius?”

“It is Unplottable at the very least,” Albus replied. “There are no indications as of yet that we must break through a Fidelius Charm, but there will certainly be Dark wards and other protections. Lord Voldemort always showed an interest in the archaic forms of magic as a child. We should expect to encounter curses that have not been seen in centuries.”

“Prepare for the worst, in other words.” Moody smiled darkly. He was a bloodthirsty old man, more ruthless than anyone else in the order.

“As we always have,” Dumbledore agreed. He stood. “That is all the information I have for you now, I’m afraid.”

The members of the Phoenix wandered out in pairs and small groups, talking excitedly. It was the biggest break-through and the closest they had gotten to Voldemort in over ten years. James waited for Lily by the door, but she went up to Dumbledore instead.

“Albus?”

“Yes, Lily?” he asked with a smile.

“Do you think…” she took a shuddering breath. “Do you think You-Know-Who has Harry in that house?”

Albus looked over her shoulder at James. James knew exactly what expression was on his face. He was tired. Searching for Harry had taken so many years of his life. He just wanted it to be over.

“Yes, I do,” Albus admitted. “If Voldemort had intended to kill him, Harry would have died in his crib that night. I believe his intention was always to take Harry away, and I believe he has him still.” The former Headmaster took her hand in his. “We will find him, Lily. We must.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: As I said in the beginning, I have very little in the way of planning done for this one. I'm mostly working on spurts of inspiration. If you have any questions or are confused about something, please tell me in the comments! I want to make sure it all ties up cleanly in the end (whenever that comes), but sometimes I miss things and I would greatly appreciate constructive help!  
> Ta!


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